Stephen Leather: Take Two

‘Is that what you were doing? Running away?’

‘Pretty much.’

Richards turned the page. There was a photograph of the two girls in school uniform, black skirts and grey blazers and matching satchels. ‘You were good-looking kids,’ he said.

‘We got that from our mum.’

‘She’s still around?’

Jenny shook her head. ‘She died a few years after that picture was taken.’ She looked at her watch. ‘We ought to be going,’ she said.

She let them out of the house, setting the burglar alarm before they left.

‘How did you know the code?’ asked Richards, as they walked towards the Porsche.

Jenny frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

‘The burglar alarm code. When you went into the house the first time, why didn’t the alarm go off?’

Jenny laughed. ‘She uses her date of birth. So it’s not a number I can ever forget.’

‘When is your birthday?’

‘She uses the year,’ said Jenny. She wagged a finger at him. ‘And no, I’m not telling you the year I was born. We girls have to keep something to ourselves.’

Richards unlocked the doors to the Porsche and they climbed in.

The supermarket was in South London, about a forty-five minute drive from Carolyn’s house. Richards still thought of it as Carolyn’s house, even though she was dead and it was Jenny who now lived there. When they arrived, there were several hundred people — mainly women and children — standing at the entrance. ‘Oh my God,’ said Jenny. ‘They’re not all here to see me, are they?’

‘I think so,’ said Richards. The car park was pretty much full but he managed to find a space eventually and walked with her towards the entrance.

‘What do we do?’ asked Jenny.

Richards chuckled. ‘I’m a virgin at this, too,’ he said.

A middle-aged man in a dark suit hurried over, accompanied by two young women. ‘Miss Castle, I’m so pleased to see you,’ he said, extending his hand. ‘Bob Harris.’

Jenny shook it and didn’t correct him over the name. ‘I see you’ve got a mob,’ she said.

‘We’ve never had a turnout like this,’ said Harris. ‘I’m the regional manager and I do these all over and this is the best I’ve seen.’

‘Shows you how popular the show is,’ said Richards.

The man looked at Richards, obviously wondering who he was.

‘I’m sorry, this is Warwick, a friend of mine,’ said Jenny.

The manager smiled dismissively and then turned his attention back to Jenny. ‘We’ve got a tape set up and a pair of scissors.’ He waved at one of the girls and she produced a pair of shears from behind her back. ‘If you could just say a few words about how pleased you are to see the new supermarket here, how it’ll be an asset to the community, and perhaps mention that ten percent of today’s receipts will be going to charity.’

‘No worries,’ said Jenny.

Richards realised she’d slipped back into her Australian accent and he coughed pointedly. She looked over at him and he mouthed ‘accent’ at her.

She bit down on her lower lip and nodded, then smiled at the regional manager. ‘That’s a nice idea, giving money to charity,’ she said. The Australian accent had gone.

‘Then we’d like you to pose for photographs with a dozen of our shoppers. We ran a competition on our website and the prize was to be photographed with you.’

‘That’s fine,’ said Jenny.

‘And then if you’d like to sign a few autographs, that would also be fine. I gather we have you for two hours, so as soon as you want to go just give me a wave and I’ll bring the proceedings to a close.’

‘I’m in no hurry,’ said Jenny. ‘I never forget it’s the fans who make the show what it is.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Right, let’s go.’

The regional manager put his arm protectively around her shoulder and led her towards the crowd, which began to buzz with anticipation.

Jenny ended up staying at the supermarket for three hours. Richards remained on the edge of the crowd, watching as she performed the opening, paused for photographs and signed autographs for well over a hundred housewives, most of whom were wearing tracksuits, had their dyed hair pulled back into tight ponytails and were pushing toddlers in McLaren pushchairs. He was amazed at her patience and the way she kept smiling and listening patiently to whatever they had to say to her.

The area manager stayed at her shoulder throughout, trying to maintain order. He made a determined effort to get people to line up but, at times, there was a sea of housewives around her like sharks around a wounded fish.

Every now and again she would look over at Richards, pen poised, and either smile or wink. Richards had to struggle to remember it was Jenny signing the autographs and not Carolyn. The housewives seemed to love her and would hang on her every word. Most wanted to touch her, on the arm or the shoulder, as if trying to reassure themselves that she was real.

Gradually the crowd got smaller and eventually Richards saw her say something to the area manager and he raised his hands and announced that Miss Castle had to leave. He brought her over to Richards, his two female assistants in tow.

‘I can’t thank you enough, Miss Castle,’ he said. ‘That really went well. You’re an absolute star, literally and metaphorically.’

‘It was a pleasure,’ said Jenny. Richards unlocked the Porsche.

‘Miss Castle, I’m sorry to be a bother, but could you sign this for my mum?’ asked one of the girls. ‘She’s a huge fan.’ She held out a DVD cover and a pen.

‘Now then, Kelly, we shouldn’t be taking up any more of Miss Castle’s time,’ admonished the area manager.

‘No, that’s okay,’ said Jenny. She took the DVD cover and the pen.

‘Can you make it “To Pat” please?’ said the girl.

Jenny signed the DVD cover with a flourish and handed it and the pen back to the girl.

The supermarket team walked off as Jenny and Richards climbed into the Porsche. ‘I could do with a cigarette,’ she sighed.

‘I thought you didn’t smoke?’

Jenny laughed. ‘I don’t. But playing at being Carolyn always makes me feel like having a cigarette.’ She put a hand on his arm. ‘Does that sound crazy?’

‘I guess not,’ said Richards. ‘I don’t have any cigarettes, but I do have cigars.’

She laughed again and squeezed his arm. ‘Now that would be crazy.’ She took her mobile phone out of her handbag. ‘I suppose I’d better see who that was.’

‘Somebody called you?’

‘I had the phone on vibrate,’ she said. ‘They called three times. Almost gave me an orgasm the third time.’ She laughed at the look of astonishment on his face. ‘Joke,’ she said. ‘But chance would be a fine thing.’ She tapped on the screen and then held the phone to her ear. ‘At least they left a message,’ she said. She frowned as she listened, then her mouth opened wide and she waved at Richards. ‘It was Carolyn,’ she mouthed.

Richards stared at her, his mind whirling. Carolyn? That was impossible. He forced himself to stay calm as he watched her listen intently to the message.

‘I can’t believe I missed her,’ she said eventually.

‘Call her back,’ said Richards.

Jenny shook her head. ‘She withheld the number.’

‘Can I hear her what she said?’

‘Sure,’ said Jenny. She tapped on the screen and held out the phone.

Richards put it to his ear and listened. ‘Hi, Jenny, this is Carolyn. Yeah, I’m sorry I wasn’t at the airport to pick you up. I’ve had a pretty rough few weeks and I just need some me time. I’ve booked myself into a clinic — they don’t want to say which one — and I’ll be incognito for another week. I’m already feeling a lot better. Anyway, I’ve got to go. You be good, okay?’ There was a beep and the message ended.